


it was one of those nights

by Emberglade



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of coping mechanisms, M/M, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 03:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21292673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emberglade/pseuds/Emberglade
Summary: Moomin wasn't over it quite yetbut at least there was someone to talk to
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46
Collections: Alcoholism in a Fluffy Trench Coat





	it was one of those nights

**Author's Note:**

> continuation/follow up of my work Vodkova

Moomin was cold. 

Or maybe they were just the shakes. 

It seemed no matter how many blankets he adorned, how many coats he wore, or how many hours he spent in bed, he wasn't getting any warmer.

His hands fisted in the rough cloth around his chin. If only he had a way to warm himself up. A toasty fire, maybe someone warm. A warm drink. His eyes shut halfway. Perhaps a nice, tall, glittering and swishing bottle to rub away his worries. Hot amber liquid that ripped your insides up. Something to chase away the cold and all the feelings. Something to make his head dizzy and his eyes close. He itched for it again. 

Or anything like it.

Mulled wines, hot ciders, frothy beers. Rum and bourbon and whiskey and any other magical treat he could get his hands on. Anything would do. 

He rolled over, letting out a whine. This is exactly the type of thought he shouldn't be having. The thoughts they all told him were _bad _and _damaging _and _counterproductive to all of his progress._ Moomin scoffed. What progress? He could still barely get out of bed. He was still lonely and cold and thirsting all the time.

Ever since everyone found out, he's had to go without. At first it was easy to get away with sneaking out and stealing Too-Ticki's wine or sips of leftover beer. But soon they were watching him like a hawk. Everyone had so much to say, so many words of bullshit wisdom he could feel his head imploding every time they talked to him with condescending or even wary tones. 

Some of them acted as if he was a whole new person.

Moomin felt his stomach twist. They all judged him, he could tell. They all thought he was being stupid and childish and horrible. They wanted him to change, or they didn't want him at all. After all, who could want someone like him. Someone well acquainted with bathroom floors and the taste of bile and dizziness and that dark yellow your pee turns when you drink too much. Nobody could want someone like him.

He crawled out of bed with disdain painted on his face. It was cold, but he didn't mind too much. He tiptoed to the cupboard. To his stash.

They hadn't found them yet, he kept them hidden well enough. The bottles lined up in neat little rows, tucked and buried behind stacks of books and stuffed animals from a time when he didn't feel quite so empty. They were perfectly organized.

The rows, first, of Papa's rum. Eleven bottles. It would be perfectly twelve but Snufkin had found the last one. He sighed. Next to them, two empty wine bottles, one white and one red. He hoped Too-Ticki didn't notice them missing from her bedside table where she kept them. Next the small vials and flasks he pawned off of shops. Some empty, some half full because their taste was too gross for even the small troll. They varied in size and ornateness and allure, but they were all he had left of the times when nobody noticed quite how bad he was. Times when he could still get numb.

Those times were long gone. 

His fingers traced the bottles. He had thought, rather often, about making his own wines. Bottling up berries and leaving them for a year, testing whether or not he could make his own poison.

But he didn't have the knowledge nor the patience for such a project.

He closed the closet, rising abrubtly to wander to the windowsill. He rest his arms on the ledge, looking out around the valley. Everyone slept in their rooms, humming with dreams and hopes and silence. And Moomin found himself, yet again, restless for the same feeling. 

Something scurried along his front lawn. He peered into the barely lit dark, tail twitching. He wouldn't mind and altercation.

It came to a halt below his windowsill, and in the moonlight he could just barely make out his friend.

Snufkin waved, taking his hat off to press it to his chest. Moomin waved reluctantly back. 

He pried open the window, sticking his head out. "Hello!" he called into the night.

Snufkin shouted a greeting back, then waved him down. Moomin smiled, albeit a bit sharply, and climbed out the window deftly, scrambling down his ladder. No sooner had his little feet hit the grass than Snufkin was gripping his paw in his hand. "Moomin!"

"Snufkin." Moomin took it back slowly. "It's late." He smiled gently. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, but not as badly as he wanted to be with his friend.

"I couldn't sleep," Snufkin dropped his hand and began to walk. Moomin followed suit. "I wondered if you would maybe want to come for tea?"

Moomin nodded. It was better than the alternative. 

They walked in a gentle silence, arms brushing as they both admired the landscape around them. Snufkin sat at his camp, which currently boasted a lovely, warm fire. Moomin sat close as Snufkin set a kettle on. 

"So Moomin," Snufkin sat directly next to him and began to mix tea leaves. "How are you doing lately?" 

Moomin shrugged. He wasn't sure what to say. That he was horribly lonely and filled with despair? That he felt as though he would never be free from this feeling of wanting? That he had bottles upon bottles in his closet. That he would do anything for that feeling of intoxication again? 

Or worse, the things that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Should he put into words the desire to kiss Snufkin? The urge to hold his hand and fall asleep next to him and touch his soft, auburn hair? Should he tell him that he admired his wiry limbs and his honeycomb eyes and the way his laughter brought dozens of butterflies to his stomach

No, he shouldn't. Because all these things could ruin the moment they were sharing in a second.

Instead, he opted to shrug and watch the sky. Stars passed and danced around above him. Clouds barely adorned the canvas, and instead soft moonlight spilled all over Moomin valley. Snufkin poured him a cup of tea.

"I understand." He hummed and passed his companion the cup, already sugared to his liking.

"You can't say it out loud." The mumrick sipped his own, unsweetened tea. "That's okay too."

Their shoulder's brushed.

Moomin felt himself flush. Without warning, words were spilling from him.

"I just feel so alone, I guess. I miss drinking."

Snufkin hummed and took his free hand, placing it on Moomin's knee. Their faces were so close together, the troll could feel the Mumrick's hot breath on his face. "It'll all turn out okay, though, wont it?"

Moomin shrugged. "There's just so much I want that I cannot have." He took a hefty gulp of his tea.

"Like what?" his clawed hand still rest on his knee, tracing the soft fur there. Moomin felt chills. The good kind.

"Snufkin why did you come to my window tonight?"

Snufkin seemed taken aback. He thought for a moment, setting his teacup in the damn grass beside him. "Well I suppose because I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know you haven't been sleeping well lately. I wanted to be there for you."

Moomin smiled, putting his furry hand atop the one on his knee.

"I guess that's as good of a reason as any..." He flushed, tamping down the feeling of unlovableness that welled up inside him. He was horrible. He was going to burst.

"Oh, Snufkin!" He threw himself into his friend's arms. Snufkin caught him in a light hug. 

"Oh my... Moomin are you alright?"

The white furball sniffed into Snufkin's shoulder. "I feel so alone. There's so much I want to say that I **can't**! Like how I wan't to drink again! I can't sleep, my head always hurts, and I'm cold all the time!"

His hands fisted in Snufkin's clothing. "I'm so happy you're here right now but when you leave, and I can't distract myself with how pretty the night is and with you, I'll just be sad and lonely again!" He whimpered.

"Shh, love, it's okay. You're doing your best. I'm happy you're here." Snufkin pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "You're doing so good, I promise. So much better than the Joxter or anyone else I've seen. I'm so proud of you."

He pet Moomin's fur and the troll felt himself slowly melt into Snufkin's chest, tears lightly rolling down his cheeks. "It will get better."

"Snufkin?"

"Yes?"

"I love you." Moomin squeezed his eyes shut.

"And I, you."

They sat in a silence. Moomin wondered if Snufkin knew what he had really meant with the phrase. And if Snufkin meant his response. He was probably just saying that to keep Moomin from feeling bad. He felt himself stiffen.

"Hey, Moomin?" Snufkin's deep voice rumbled throughout his body, and Moomin leaned into it willingly.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to spend the night? With me?"

Moomin smiled. "Of course." A night kept warm by Snufkin didn't sound too bad at all.

**Author's Note:**

> please y'all give me ideas for fluffy moomin shit im desperate


End file.
